


(W)hole lotta love

by thejourneymaninn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (due to anonymity/lack thereof), Anonymous Sex, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Glory Hole, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Smut, additional tags may be added later, other characters may appear later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: Anders and Fenris meet at a glory hole. Of course, the arrangement is meant to be anonymous – and of course, Anders being Anders, it doesn’t stay that way for long. Needless to say, the realization that the man on the other side of the wall isthe magetakes Fenris completely by surprise, and when the whole thing is over, it only gets worse. He keeps having fantasies. And…feelings. Try as he might, he just can’t get Anders, and the memory of their encounter, out of his mind.





	(W)hole lotta love

It was a lovely cock. Already standing at attention, long and thick - not excessively so but enough to be impressive, to make him wonder how it would feel to have it nudging the back of his throat, to slide deeper, filling him, claiming his mouth with force. Or rather, the illusion of force. There was no actual power to wield when you were behind a wall, with no way to grab, to push down or hold in place. Whoever was on the other side, they couldn’t control his movements. It was all _his_ to control now. His rules, his choice.

The first time a cock had been pushed through the wall, he had done nothing, had simply stood there with a slowly spreading grin on his face as he watched the appendage poke the cold air around it, waiting for something that would never happen. If he didn’t want to do it, the person on the other side couldn’t make him. No one could make him, not ever again. It had taken several minutes, and an annoyed huff, until the cock was retracted and the door to the stall slammed shut with a bang. All that did was make his grin grow wider.

It wasn’t the last time he ignored his neighbour’s advances. Sometimes, he still did, when he didn’t like the dick in question. Or the smell, or even the sound of the supplicants footsteps. It was all up to him now. For the first few weeks, that had been enough, had even been more attractive than the actual purpose of the place... Well, ostensibly the buckets (and privacy) were for the purpose of relieving oneself, but he highly doubted anyone ever entered one of the two stalls at the far end of the room for _that_. If they did, they were in for a surprise. The thought made him chuckle, a low, almost soundless laugh he hoped the person on the other side wouldn’t notice. Was there anyone who didn’t know about this place, who would look at the small hole in the wall and just think of it as a lapse in maintenance? He found it hard to believe anyone would, but then, just a few months ago, he himself would have been oblivious. If he hadn’t heard Isabela mentioning the place (to Sebastian, of all people…who, come to think of it, had shown a remarkable lack of shock or surprise), he never would have thought such...arrangements existed. And he’d been appalled, at first.

Or so he tried to tell himself. And kept telling himself, even after he’d already spent weeks touching himself imagining the scene. The thought was simply too ludicrous. Why would he find pleasure in the thought of pleasuring someone without reciprocity? For that was what he was imaging. In none of his fantasies was he the one pushing himself through the hole and into an eager, waiting mouth, no, he was always on the other side, all too ready to be of service, hand on his own cock as he swallowed down strangers, had them use his mouth, fill his throat with their seed and his ears with their moans. He had no idea why in the Void he should desire this. But he did.

The appeal of the arrangement itself wasn’t quite so puzzling. As much as he was loath to admit it, anonymous encounters felt like the only type of intimacy he could manage, and there was no way to be anonymous when you were face to face with someone, at least not when you were an elf covered in lyrium. Perhaps that thought was foolish. Kirkwall was a huge city, surely, there were corners where the Champion and his companions were faint whispers at best, where the famous lyrium-covered elf that crushed hearts and hopes alike had never even been heard of. But he didn’t want to risk it.

Perhaps that was just another excuse. He wasn’t exactly short on those. But be that as it may, it felt like his only option. Even if he hadn’t wanted to remain anonymous, he was still completely hopeless at what Isabela so casually referred to as ‘flirting’. He wouldn’t make it past an awkward chuckle and a hurried escape, which he highly doubted was a suitable method to lure someone into his bed. The Rose, that vile, disgusting place, was out of the question. To treat someone’s body like flesh to be purchased, measured in coin, used… _Never_. There was nothing, no fantasy or desire strong enough to ever make him consider that. And as for his friends…well, they had their own entanglements. Granted Isabela kept offering him some ‘friendly fun’, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't tempted, but...he cared about her. He didn't want to care, not when it came to this. And even if all those really were just more excuses, in the end, it didn’t matter. It had taken him a long time to admit it but when he did, he approached the matter the same way he did everything: with determination and full focus. He wanted this. Anonymous and quick, nothing but pleasure and strangers whose eyes he’d never have to try and fail to meet.

And since he’d come this far, he also admitted to himself that he wanted to be the one doing the pleasuring. He’d had no idea how the whole actually thing worked, but he’d heard Isabela, with a gleeful cackle at the still unimpressed Sebastian, refer to the stall at the very end as the ‘receptacle’, so that was where he went. And it seemed to have been the right choice. For whatever reason, everyone in the stall next to him expected him to be the one doing the...work. Perhaps that was part of the arrangement. He couldn’t be sure, though; he had, after all, never tried to push himself through instead. For all he knew, that might have been accepted just as readily.

When he’d first come to the place, the thrill of the act itself had been the only thing on his mind. He never would have imagined that refusing it could be even more satisfying. Isabela would probably have strangled herself with her own jewellery (or, more in character, strangled him) had she known that he had spent several nights next to what she so charmingly referred to as a pleasure-gap without actually touching a single pleasure-part. And she’d strangle him a second time if she knew that some nights, he still didn’t touch any. As the days passed, the initial attraction had taken over again and he’d begun to actually use the place for the purpose he’d first sought it out for. And well, his fantasies hadn’t misled him. He enjoyed the act. Immensely so. But when he didn’t like what was being pushed through or pressed against the hole, he ignored it, and while the satisfaction he gained from refusing was of a different kind, he relished it just as much.

There was no way he would be ignoring this one though. In fact, just looking at it made him feel like Hawke’s mabari, slobbering in anticipation, almost dripping saliva onto his partner just from the sight of it. A nice, even colour and shape, with a pronounced vein beckoning him to touch, to feel its weight in his hand, probe it with his tongue. Clean skin, a hint of scent from having been crammed into his trousers, yet it was obvious his partner had taken care to wash himself before coming here. Which shouldn’t have been worth pointing out but alas, more often than Fenris would have wished, simple matters of hygiene were the main reason for turning down what was thrust at him.

As Fenris continued his leisurely exploration, each of his soft, ghosting touches was met with a sharp intake of breath, a low, murmuring sound at the back of a throat. Not yet a moan, but on its way, already so eager, so hopeful and needy, hot and straining in his hand. Or rather, hands. Normally, he’d already have his hand down his pants at this point, start to take his own pleasure in more than one way, but this one, this one deserved his full attention, at least for a bit. He let his finger trail along the shaft, following the motion up with his tongue, as broad and flat as he could make it, licking along the underside, from all the way down near the wall, slowly, teasingly to the tip, where he alternated between circles and quick, precise licks with just the tip of his tongue – only to suddenly remove it completely and change the pace to fleeting, torturously soft kisses.

Fenris had expected there to be muttered curses, impatient thrusts, hands banging against the wall in indignation by now, but none of it came. All that was to be heard were rapid breaths and the occasional low, bitten back whine. But he could feel, oh how he could feel, the man shaking, even though his legs were on the other side of the wall. His hand around the base, pumping upwards and tightening its hold, he could feel the shaking increase. The noises became desperate, his breath ragged. A part of him bemoaned passing up the chance to drag this out, to wrench more need and despair from the man who was yielding to him so completely, had placed his pleasure in his hands with no restraint or safeguards, but all other parts (most noticeably, the achingly hard part straining against his half-laced leggings) insisted it was enough, they didn’t want to, no, couldn’t, wait even a minute longer. He gave the stranger no indication, though, revelling in his shocked, explosive gasp as he swallowed him down without warning. He lingered for a moment, savouring the feel of his cock filling his mouth, the welcome intrusion on his own terms, the heat of its skin where his hand was still wrapped around the base. Again, there was no movement on the other side, no thrusting urging him to _fucking start already_ , just unsteady breaths. He could be mistaken, but they sounded a lot like they were pressed through bitten lips. In a face he suddenly wished he could see. He wanted to taste the man’s pleasure, his surrender, almost as badly as he wanted to taste his cock. Perhaps more.

The harsh breaths gave way to heedless moans when he at last began to move, relatively shallow bobs, still testing the waters, giving the man just _this_ much, teasing him to start thrusting, to see if he would be denied or allowed, to risk being abandoned. For there was nothing he could have done had Fenris refused, no hands pulling him down, no fingers twisting in his hair…although he found himself almost wishing they were. Would their grip be as desperate as the man’s sounds? Ragged, broken groans, punctuated by gasps, a frantic search for air amidst wordless praise and begging. Begging for more with nothing but his desire, and when Fenris finally gave in, swallowed him down for real - still not all the way, still holding out on that last bit, still teasing with the promise, the hope, for more - that last dam broke too. His greedy, slurping noises (yes, he might have been putting a little more emphasis on those than strictly necessary...but the effect it had on the man was just irresistible), the harsh sound of skin meeting skin as his hand finally closed around his own erection were forced into the background of a roaring, unrestrained,

“YES, _Maker_ , YES!”

Fenris froze.

He had heard that voice before.

In fact, he heard it almost every day, when it pestered him with the so-called plight of mages, complained about imagined (and sometimes, not quite imagined) slights, called him names, babbled on without any regard for who listened or cared...

Anders.

Anders who was still moaning, panting, who still sounded just as sweet, reduced to nothing but desire and oh so delicious in his need.

Also, delicious in his mouth. Where he _still_ was. Fenris’ head may have stopped bobbing yet his tongue, entirely unimpressed by the sudden revelation of his partner’s identity, kept lapping at the underside with gusto, licking every part it could reach as though it had a mind of its own. And it was clearly not the only part of him with a mind of its own, as every single sound Anders made seemed to send a new spark of arousal straight to Fenris’ groin.

The mage was desperate, _aching_ for his touch. There was no denying that Fenris enjoyed the thought. Unfortunately, there was also no denying that it was _wrong_.

In all the time he’d been visiting the place, Fenris had never considered the risk that he might one day be faced (albeit facelessly so) with someone he knew. And apparently, neither had Anders. But Fenris couldn’t simply leave him in the dark; the mage would never have agreed to this if he had known it was him. The right thing to do, the _only_ thing to do, would be to reveal himself as well - which was not an option.

Their relationship was strained enough as it was; if the mage found out he had exposed himself like this... he’d either lash out or hide away in shame, neither of which sounded appealing. And neither of which would be deserved. There was no shame in what they were doing here, and there was certainly no shame in the mage’s...anatomy. No, he mustn’t, he _couldn’t_ tell Anders. But he couldn’t just keep going either, not with someone who didn’t want to do this with him. He’d have to stop, to simply pull away without explanation and wait for Anders to take the hint.

Except they had already started. Wouldn’t it be even crueller to just leave the mage hanging (or rather, standing) now than to simply continue, honour the supposed anonymity of the arrangement and spare him the humiliation of being either abandoned or exposed? He’d never mention it to him, forget it ever happened, and they could both go in…well, what passed for peace in their relationship. Fenris had to admit, it seemed like the best option. Or perhaps it was merely the most appealing option. Anders really did have a nice cock.

And he was so _damn_ responsive.

All these delicious little moans, his complete abandon. Passion. He went into this as wholeheartedly and heedlessly as into his blighted cause. But without the rancour, the needling, the bitter words and smiles like nooses. He was so much...freer like this. Soft. Vulnerable. His need, his surrender, tasted sweet – but somehow, being able to satisfy it, to give him what he ached for so desperately, tasted even sweeter. It felt good to tease, yes, it was intoxicating to have him under his control, yet it all paled next to being able to use it to make him feel good. Every happy little moan was like a spark of warmth, nestling next to the thrill of power. It hadn’t felt like this with the others. And it only became more apparent now that he could picture his face. Eyes squeezed shut, lips assaulted by teeth and tongue in a vain attempt at control, hair sticking to his forehead, or struggling against his tie, single strands Fenris could stroke out of his eyes...

Not an image he’d thought he’d ever desire, yet it spurred the hand around his own cock to move faster. He tightened his grip, trying to soothe the burning pressure in his groin for at least a moment while he was pretending that he hadn’t already decided what he was going to do, that he wasn’t already beginning to slowly move his head again, a little further along the shaft this time, a little faster. As expected, Anders’ moans matched his rhythm, rapid little puffs of half-finished breaths interspersed with incoherent words. Words of praise and gratitude, telling him how good he was, how amazing he felt... Normally, Fenris would have found this kind of talk belittling, yet with Anders it felt...honest, like an expression of sincere gratitude, of being lost in pleasure.

And he was getting lost; Fenris could feel it in the trembling of his body, obvious through all that wood between them, in the breathlessness of his moans, the force of his hips, thrusting without intent or thought, aching to be closer, deeper... There was no claim in his movements, no aggression, just need and the fog of pleasure, the mage’s cock hitting against his cheek in its uncoordinated attempts to sink deeper into his throat. Even as Fenris fought not to gag, he couldn’t help enjoying the feeling, his mouth filled, taken, at a pace faster than the one Fenris’ hand could keep on his own erection. Until it suddenly slowed. Stopped.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go so deep. Did I hurt you? I hope you’re alright...”

Of course. Always babbling, always worrying, always concerned....even for a supposed stranger at a glory hole. He moved his mouth further down in reply, taking control again.

There was a soft, breathless chuckle on the other side.

“You’re grinning, aren’t you? I can practically feel it.”

Well, as far as it was possible with his mouth stretched around Anders’ cock, he was in fact, grinning. It was just too typical, too much like the mage. Although not in an unpleasant way. Concern wasn’t usually something you’d expect to find here. Most of his partners had been considerate enough, he supposed - and if they weren’t they soon came to regret it - but the matter had always remained impersonal, everything beyond quick, matter-of-fact pleasure left outside the stalls. Fenris didn’t think anyone else had ever said a single word to him. He certainly hadn’t spoken himself; his voice and thoughts had no place in this. But of course Anders would go about it differently. He would bring himself, all of himself, and try to share something that was meant to be merely exchanged. Had he been a stranger, Fenris might have found it off-putting. Knowing the face behind the chuckle, however, all he felt was a sort of warm, fond amusement.

“Well, it’s good that you’re grinning, I didn’t hurt you then...or do something you don’t like...you do like this, right? I wouldn’t want to do this with someone who isn’t, you know, willing and eager, but…I guess you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t…and.. _.yes_... _oh_... _yes_.... sorry...I tend to ramble when I’m... Maker, you’re incredible...you don’t mind, do you? You feel so good...”

Considering that Fenris had increased the pace, it was impressive that Anders still managed to croak out words. Shaky, slightly unintelligible words interrupted by groans, but pretty coherent sentences nonetheless. Then again, Fenris supposed it wasn’t really that surprising that the mage would be able to talk in any and all circumstances. It was all he ever did, after all.

“I can feel you shaking your head, too.” Between his gasps for air, Anders sounded like he was smiling. “I’m just going to assume that’s because you find my ridiculousness irresistibly charming despite yourself...and I’m also going to assume that was a nod.”

It had been.

Truth be told, it was rather charming. Yet unfortunately, also distracting.

Well, Fenris would be damned if he couldn’t render the mage speechless. No more ‘almost’, no teasing, he picked up speed, taking him as deep and fast as if Anders were still setting the pace, were still pounding his face with complete abandon. His own hand working himself in rough, clumsy strokes, trying to match the rhythm of his mouth, Fenris listened as the words stopped tumbling from Anders’ lips, until there was nothing left but rapid, shallow breaths and the sounds of skin against skin. He couldn’t help but wonder…was his head thrown back? Or resting against the wall, pillowed on his arm? Were his lips parted, or pressed together, teeth digging in to keep himself from screaming… and his eyes, heavy-lidded but open, looking down, searching for his as he screamed again, screamed Fenris’ name…

The image stayed with him, seared into his mind as he toppled into his release, spilling himself all over his hand and the wall. For a split-second, he forgot where he was, who he was, and why it was so difficult to breathe. Had his mouth not been full, he would have given himself away right then but luckily, all that met Anders’ ears were muffled, unintelligible groans. Fenris, on the other hand, was rewarded with the most gorgeous whine when his mouth suddenly popped off Anders’ cock. As he gave himself a moment to catch his breath, Anders did once again not urge or demand, didn’t bang his fists against the wall; he merely…whimpered, a low, pleading sound fit for a stray kitten, not a powerful mage.

Still in a daze, Fenris didn’t hesitate or tease, this time. He pulled him back into his mouth without preamble, barely registering the sob of relief from behind the other side of the wall. “ _Thank you. I, I thought…thank you_.” He couldn’t quite match the merciless pace he’d set before, and his movements were a bit sloppy, but in Anders’ pitiful state, any kind of contact, of touch, seemed to be enough. Fenris could feel the tension building in him, the increased frequency of his breathing; it wouldn’t be long until… Anders started to talk again, the words coming out in bitten-off, groaned-out fragments.

“I’m…I’m almost…I’m about to…”

While his mouth was otherwise engaged, Fenris’ eyes crinkled in a smile. Who would have thought this petty, hostile man who always argued way past the point of cruelty would be considerate to the very end… Not that Fenris really needed a warning. He might not always be in the mood for this but right now, with Anders, he certainly didn’t mind. In fact, he didn’t want to let go before he absolutely had to.

With a grin he doubted Anders would still be able to feel at this point, he slowed down, moved his lips up his shaft, around the tip, almost off him – and then all the way down again in one swift motion. He resumed bobbing his head, the sound of Anders’ surprised gasp in his ears as he took him as deep and as fast as before. And then, scarcely a minute later, the sound of utter silence. Nothing, not even a soft puff of breath was to be heard as Anders spent himself down his throat and oh how Fenris wished he could see him now, all calm and still and lost in bliss.

His mouth unmoving around Anders’ cock, Fenris waited until he’d taken all he had to give…and then he waited a little longer, savouring the feeling for just one more moment. He knew all too well there would be no next time.

But he had to let go eventually. One last, gentle lick to clean him, a final, feathery kiss to say Goodbye, and then he pulled away his hand and turned around, leaning back against the wall next to the hole. To rest, and also to ensure the mage couldn’t see him. Fenris wouldn’t put it past him to try and take a peek. There was a twinge of regret at the thought, but no anger. All he felt was warm and sated. And truth be told, tired. Had he been in his mansion, in his bed, he’d have rolled over and fallen asleep right this very second.

Through the wall, he could hear Anders bustling around. He was probably tucking himself back in, trying to make himself presentable…or at least presentable enough to go back outside. He must have got rather sweaty, Fenris thought with a lazy smile, sweaty and dishevelled. And perhaps a bit flushed… It truly was a pity he couldn’t see him.

It had gone silent behind him; the mage must have stopped fussing with his appearance. Fenris waited for the sound of the door opening, for him to walk away – but Anders didn’t leave. Fenris could hear the shuffling of feet and then his voice, stammering rather awkwardly.

“That was…Maker, there are no words for that. Just…thank you. What about you? Do you want me to…? I’d like to…return the favour.”

Fenris stared at the wall in disbelief, certain he’d misheard. Perhaps it was unfair to just assume none of his former partners would have reciprocated, given that he’d never approached them for it, but then again, no one had ever gone to the trouble of actually _offering_ ; quite the contrary, most had been rather quick to leave once they had finished.

Which was exactly how Fenris preferred it. He’d never wanted any of them to touch him. Yet somehow, with Anders, the though wasn’t revolting. In fact, it was the opposite of revolting…Venhedis, the thought of those lips around his cock… Anders would be good to him, Fenris had no doubt of it; he’d give himself just as completely when their positions were reversed. And he was… No, trustworthy wasn’t the right word for someone foolish enough to let in a spirit, someone who still had that dangerous thing _inside him_. And yet, if there was one thing Fenris regretted, one grave misjudgement he'd made, it was claiming Anders would do well in Tevinter. He wouldn’t. He’d end up a slave within days. He cared too much, too deeply. He was still dangerous, of course, Fenris mustn’t forget that, but he was no magister, and he’d never be like one. He cared about people, not power. Fenris could trust him with his pleasure. He’d be safe. Perhaps it was time to take that step, now that he actually _desired_ it.

Of course, with the mess he’d made of his hand (and the wall) mere minutes ago, it wasn’t exactly an option right away, but with a bit of patience and coaxing, it shouldn’t take too long. His markings didn’t go that far down; Anders wouldn’t know…

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as realization hit him. Realization, and disgust with himself. _Anders wouldn’t know_. And more importantly: if he did, he would be appalled. Not only did he not desire Fenris, he despised him. He would never have agreed to pleasure _him_. Fenris couldn’t accept the offer, no matter how tempting. It was bad enough to know Anders would be disgusted if he found out whose mouth he had just sunk himself into; Fenris wouldn’t let it go any further than that.

So he remained seated. And silent.

Time stretched, a minute passed, another.

“I’d enjoy it, in case you’re worried about that. In fact, I’d enjoy it _very_ much…”

Torture, complete, utter torture, there was no other word for what this was. And he might very well deserve it. Fenris bit his lip, forcing himself to stay quiet. He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t take advantage of Anders’ like that.

Another minute went by

At last, Anders relented. “Not your thing then? Alright. But the offer stands, should we ever,” he chuckled around the word, “meet again…”

He opened the door with one last soft, “Goodbye” and then he was gone, and Fenris was left sitting on the floor, where he remained long after the mage’s footsteps had faded.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] (W)hole lotta love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14413899) by [BabelGhoti (TheHandmadeTale)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHandmadeTale/pseuds/BabelGhoti)
  * [Surprise, Surprise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886797) by [damnedapostate (ethydium)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethydium/pseuds/damnedapostate)




End file.
